I have a voice within
day and night chatters incessantly
it simply will not take a rest
I write because no one
will listen to my babble
Sometimes it’s silliness and nonsense
at random times there’s the odd gem
a bit of unrequited wisdom
it’s like a bag of assorted candy
never know what we’re about to get
who has time to sit and listen
it’d take the patience of a saint
So I write all my thought bubbles
and throw them in a candy jar
offering them to random strangers
so they can peruse meanwhile my voice
is free to say all it’s got to say
Lineku: 3 stanzas of 5-7-5 with 5-7 words per line
Tongue Tied in Clichés: A Blessing in Disguise
A blessing in disguise,
a double-edged sword—
a far cry from peace,
yet all in all,
at the drop of a hat
we reach for a ballpark figure,
beat around the bush,
break new ground,
burn the midnight oil.
By the book we cut to the chase,
play devil’s advocate,
fill the void with food for thought,
start from scratch,
then get cold feet.
Give the green light,
go down in flames,
hit the nail on the head,
find ourselves in over our head,
jump on the bandwagon,
keep something at bay,
leave no stone unturned.
Out of our depth,
past the point of no return,
we read between the lines,
take it with a grain of salt,
see only the tip of the iceberg—
until at last we throw in the towel.
Tonight the dark feels darker
As if the light is trying to hide
Even the sounds of the night
Have been silenced or died
There's no moon softly glowing
Or any stars illuminating the sky
There's only this vast emptiness
I'm able to grasp with my eye
The darkness consumes my being
An eerie feeling begins to arise
I observe my surroundings in fright
Only desolation fills up my eyes
Lost in this darkness that is life
Im looking and hoping for a light
That little flicker of distant hope
That will assure me I'll be all right
In a given context, when we isolate a situation from a viewpoint where we're standing, that we hold ourselves open to the possibility that there is a good beyond the good that we can perceive with our limited understanding.
the
green
dragontail
moth
with
her
wings
that
flutters
through
the
air
yet
made of cloth
is
God's creation
Chanting to Him fills me with a serenity
That empowers me to change my reality.
I was chasing my worldly desires for so long,
But I realize in me is all I desired all along.
Praying to Him always leaves me smiling
While clearing my mind through reflecting.
I was praying for a better life for years.
Nowadays I can live life without my old fears.
Praising Him for all my blessings in disguise,
For I learned what the Truth is from the lies.
I realized my worth and walked away.
I now love a man who is like Shiva in a way.
Chanting to Him banishes guilt for my sins,
For I know through Him, love always wins.
In Shiva's serenity, I finally found victory
Over all of that which was hurting me.
Dice the ice and break the chain,
Shatter the silence and unmask the pain.
Frozen systems guard the throne,
But truth is fire, it melts the ice that turn stone.
Dice the ice of greed and lies,
Cut through the veil that blinds our eyes.
The people’s voice, a storm untamed,
Shall melt the frost of those unnamed.
Dice the ice of fear and doubt,
Tear the old order inside out.
No tyrant’s rule can last for long,
When masses rise, their will is strong.
Dice the ice for to justice flow,
From frozen rivers as new seeds grow.
The dawn is near, the night shall cease,
A nation freed shall find her peace.
Appleton boys
Are getting ready
For gin
They remove their shirt
From their chest
Now they put a
T-shirt on their chest
Now they remove their jeans
Finally it is time for them
To remove their underwear from
Their cocks
Now they will put
Their jock strap in their
Cocks
Then they put their underwear
On top of their jock strap
Now they will put on their shorts
Now they will change their socks
From their feet
It is now finally the time to put their
Running shoes
On their feet
Now they started to jog
3 miles
It is very hard to do
Our hearts are beating fast
And we can feel it
The term real estate
A false one, perhaps.
If so, why is his grave
Owned by the state?
Luckily, Heaven
If not Hell
Is the only ground
That truly belongs
To every soul and all
-Dharga Nagar Safa
Father you been so good to me
You keep me alive every day
And for that I thank you
Also you are the one that gave me
The gift of life
I am living my life every day
To the fullest father
I know that I won't live forever
I will die some day
Also Father I never forget to pray
For you every night
And after I pray you answer my prayer
What secrets of the Muse's rhyme,
skirt on the edge of our perception?
What fate can be known by metric time,
or prophecy by taut inspection?
The path she offers invites echoes,
of lives half-lived and dreams half-dreamt,
of pasts that form our tomorrows,
that few aspire beyond attempt.
Parnassus chooses whom so it will.
To the fated, it shares its mysteries,
but one must choose its bitter pill,
to resolve the trajectories.
The obscure rhythms of the poet's soul,
splashed against a domed, cryptic sky,
fulfill a cosmic, unique role,
that only seers behold with an inward eye.
When the muse leaves, his quill runs dry;
then joyful songs, sweet poetry,
drain from his pen, though write he try,
as hollow strains lack symmetry.
How then to woo the Muse once more?
Her treason robs him of his art.
What offerings, what gifts, might restore
against the whims of a Muse's heart?
But love is mild, and then patient:
love waits, with no pose or pretense.
His heart still burns incandescent
for her. To restore her, no expense
will be spared. And though she feels distant,
his constant heart will break her whim.
She'll not remain, forever transient,
but turn her radiant face to him.
To penetrate the fresh bloom of a flower,
is a rare joy, a kind of love felt deeply,
when virgins struggle, full of desire's power,
then collapse in warm, sensual link so sweetly.
With one, I have not known such love before;
not in a touch, but found in books and lines,
a joy that I love, rapturously explore,
and whose sung beauty lyrically shines.
Although I'll never know the former love
aforementioned, the Muse's consolation
is my reward: chaste, and pure as a dove,
she uplifts me to peaks of inspiration!
If love must be to love a woman only,
then the Muse's bloom keeps me from being lonely.
LOST AND FOUND
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When all words have been written,
the pen feels heavy, leaden weight
in my weary hand.
Inspiration, a silent bird, takes flight,
a flash of iridescent wings
disappearing beyond the horizon.
Imagination, a child lost in a funhouse,
caught in a repetitious loop of familiar shapes,
trapped in distorted, mirrored halls.
Then, a door appears, not one of wood or metal,
but one of starlight and whispers,
polished smooth by yearning and passion.
I open it, and the world explodes
with colors unseen and sounds unheard,
with endless possibilities.
My senses ignite; every cell comes alive;
and inspiration, no longer silent,
In these troubled times may we all be blessed to be optimists
with all the sadness and heartache each day we’re suffering from
because optimists know the difficulties we have ahead of us
but believe they can be overcome
Specific Types of Inspiration Poems
Definition | What is Inspiration in Poetry?
Poems Related to Inspiration
motivation, revelation, insight, influence, encouragement, genius, incentive, enthusiasm, vision, whim, brainchild, hunch, fancy, motive, awakening, illumination, flash, creativity, stimulation, approach, brainstorm, elevation, exaltation, muse, rumble, animus, impulse, spark, spur, thought, notion, afflatus, arousal, deep think, inflatus,